Tuesday, 10 February 2009

I think I’ve finally sussed the cause of my abnormally high blood pressure. To date I’ve been taking my BP medication before retiring in the evening, with the result that its optimal efficacy occurs at a time when my BP would normally be low anyway – i.e. while zonko. By the time I awake, a great deal of the effect has worn off, with the consequence that for the remainder of the day my BP is on an inexorable upward path till my evening fix.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I forgot to take my meds on Saturday evening and so took them instead at Sunday lunchtime. Given the fact my doctor has requested that for a couple of weeks I monitor my BP several times a day, I noticed an almost immediate reduction to a near normal pressure of 124/85. This continued into Monday, after again taking my meds in the morning. This would appear to indicate that I’ve been taking my meds at sub-optimal times and should therefore continue to take them in the mornings. The more astute among you might think that’s about as obvious as nun in a tartan bonnet, but it wasn’t to me.

The bugger of this is that under the mistaken belief it was overdosing on the e-cigar that was causing the BP to go ballistic, I’ve just ordered two bottles of zero nicotine e-liquid with which to ‘cut’ my existing medium strength e-liquid. Anyone want to swap zero for medium, or got 2 bottles of super-strength that I can mix with my zero? This is getting far too complex.

To other matters. Home Secretary Jacqui Smith has denied breaking any rules by claiming second home expenses for the house she shares with her husband and children in Redditch because she stays with her sister in London, rather than using a grace and favour house to which she is entitled and would not make her eligible for the expense. Critics maintain that while she’s obeying the letter of the rules covering expenses on second homes, she’s flouting their spirit.

I’ve said this before; I don’t blame Jacqui Smith, I blame a system which puts the temptation to bend the rules in the way of people like Jacqui Smith, who after all is only human. There, but for the grace of God, go I – and doubtless thousands more. However, people in the full glare of public life should be a tad more sensitive to the consequences of being found to flout the spirit of the rules and the message that gives out to the great unwashed. Our leaders must be above all suspicion, regardless of how corrupt we plebs may be (or are).

Going back to yesterday’s post on Edward Gibbon, he makes a couple of very incisive remarks about corruption:

Corruption, the most infallible symptom of constitutional liberty.

Reflect how much swifter is the progress of corruption than its cure.

I’ve been taking a tour of Blogistan and reading a few contributions to the blogosphere. I’m absolutely horrified at the number of embittered women out there – especially in America - who have written about their divorces and think nothing of trashing their ex partners for no other reason than they were unable to satisfy a desperate, narcissistic, obsessive and self-absorbed need for a knight in shining armour to fix everything in their lives for them. When that knight turned out to be (as they invariably are) an ordinary human being, with exactly the same weaknesses and insecurities as they themselves have, they simply walked away from the relationship - and doubtless straight into another cycle of, “Let’s talk about me-me-me,” and, “What do I get out of this?”.

Too many people go into a relationship with no other thought than what they can suck from it, rather than realising it must be a compromise, something one has to work at and something to which one has to contribute if it is to work. They want instant gratification, an instant fix to all the difficult bits in their lives, someone who will plug a gap and a fill a need derived from total self-absorption – possibly even a replacement parent, but without the all-too-human faults of their own parent. These people don’t want a partner, they want a therapist. People need to lower their expectations and not hold their partners to an ideal that no-one can possibly achieve. Mr D’Arcy simply doesn’t exist in real life – he’s a fictional hero. Enter a relationship with expectation set impossibly high by a constant drip feed of romantic novels or by a desire for a father figure, but without your father’s faults, and you’re guaranteed to be heading for disappointment.

Some of the women’s stories I’ve read show how all too often the solution to an emotional gap not being plugged is thought to be having a family, but that merely compounds the feeling of isolation, as looking after kids is incredibly difficult and interferes enormously with one’s obsession with having the self gratified. That then leads to further resentment of the partner, whose image becomes even more closely associated with Rab C. Nesbitt than Mr D’Arcy. There’s no denying that even in families with the most New of New Men (which I believe to be a complete media myth), the brunt of looking after children falls to the mother. No – if your relationship is failing, the last thing you need in order to resurrect it is children. A trip to Relate is cheaper.

My own Blog has had a few hits from an individual in Twatt. Thought it was some irreverent person who had the technical know-how to frig the system and register any old rubbish as an IP address location. On further investigation it would appear there is indeed such a pace as Twatt, being located in the Shetland Islands. Not only that, but there’s another Twatt in Orkney (if you’ll forgive the expression). I won’t even go near the expected obvious joke about Scotland being full of Twatts. The word must have a some esoteric meaning in Gaelic and if any of my Scottish subscribers can enlighten me as to what Twatt actually means, then I’d be grateful for the enlightenment – as I’m sure would many others.

1 comment:

My OH always takes his BP meds mornings, when he remembers! He sometimes feels a bit ropey owing to that when he's at work (while usually you may have been experiencing that while asleep, you might want to know...)

I think I might have to go reporting you to Jacqui Smith at the Home Office, with your dealing of imported and possibly illegal substances...

As for Mr Darcy, he does exist, doesn't he? I can never get my OH into the breeches, although he does suit the sideburns!